


something about us

by Kamiizumi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, actually kinda emo, minsungbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamiizumi/pseuds/Kamiizumi
Summary: He met the teenager two weeks ago, when the main wave of infection ceased and the chaos had already since descended upon the city. Han Jisung, he said his name was, a seventeen-year-old boy just a few weeks shy of his high school graduation — or at least, what would have been his high school graduation. Jisung bursted into the 7/11 holding what looked like the handlebars of a scooter, white-knuckled and with tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. Minho was in the middle of microwaving some onigiri he snatched right off the still refrigerated shelves. It took him fifteen minutes to get the flustered boy to calm down and explain himself.Things haven’t gotten easier since, but Minho supposed it was better for his sanity to have a companion around than try to rough the road east by his lonesome.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95
Collections: MINSUNG BINGO: Round One





	something about us

**Author's Note:**

> MY FINAL PIECE FOR ROUND ONE OF @minsungbingo! i didn't have the energy (nor time) to type out another massive fic, so I hope I can still bring on the feels with something a bit shorter than what i'm used to ^^
> 
> prompts: au - zombies | coming of age | kisses | bed sharing | road trip | strangers to lovers | hurt/comfort

He watches Jisung take a hefty bite out of the peach, letting the nectar dribble over his fingers messily and drip onto the floor.

“…Isn’t it strange that it took me until the literal end of the world to finally eat a peach that didn’t come from a cup or a can?”

The corners of Minho’s lips slowly curl up as he watches Jisung swing his legs back and forth from where he sat on the railing. The breeze blows Jisung’s messy blonde locks out of his face, and he continues beaming like he’s sitting in the garden of Eden itself. The sight is comforting, and Minho takes it because there are very little comforts left in the remains of their world.

“Do you like peaches, hyung?” When Minho returns his gaze to Jisung, the teenager is staring right at him with wide, curious eyes.

He runs a hand through his hair, despite the wind blowing it away anyway. He could find a can of hair mousse somewhere if he tried hard enough. “…Peaches are good, yeah. Is the one you’re eating that good that you’re asking me questions about it?”

Jisung rummages in his satchel for a short moment before pulling out another equally round and plump looking peach. “Have this one. I got an extra one from the market.” His cheeks puff up when Minho reaches over to take the fruit from his hands.

Yet, for some reason or another, Minho does nothing but stare down at the peach sitting between his fingers. Sensing the sudden discomfort washing over him, Jisung reaches out for his hands, the tips of his fingers settling on him with the lightest of touches.

“H-Hey, it’s fine if you want to just save it for later. We should be saving our food, anyway.” His blonde fringe falls back in front of his eyes when he turns away, now staring at a random overturned car on the opposite side of the street. Minho tries to placate his sense of worry by squeezing a few of Jisung’s fingers.

“Don’t...don’t feel bad. It’s just one peach,” Minho replies, shaking his head. “I’m just...” He clicks his tongue in annoyance and glares in a different direction. “Things are hard. Obviously.” Minho chooses to ignore the matter-of-factly look the teenager is giving him. “I’m just worried about the day we stop finding food just laid out for us like that.”

“We really lucked out seeing that peach tree in someone’s yard, huh?” Jisung mutters before taking another bite of his peach.

“Would’ve been great to take more but we have to travel lightly if we’re moving around like this.” Minho shoves the peach into his messenger bag before trudging ahead of Jisung. “C’mon; we’re gonna need to find a place for tonight before it gets dark.”

* * *

Nights like these, when the hot sun set had set for the day and the cool breeze came in to wash over the nation, were a few of the things that made summer worth looking forward to for Minho. But not now, when the lack of daylight made it harder to see the things that lurk just around the corner.

“How lucky is it that the electricity still works in this house, huh?”

Minho tries to ignore Jisung as he stirs the noodles in front of him in slow, methodical circles.

“And we still picked a house that has the front door blasted wide open.”

It was true; the front door lay in splintered shards, as if someone had been trying to keep something out...or perhaps, keep something inside.

“We’re luckier that nothing was here to meet us when we arrived.” Minho’s tone is grim, and he knows it looks even worse on him to sound so gloomy but they aren’t exactly in the most promising of situations. “It could be worse...I guess.” He can’t stifle the sigh that comes out of him when he rips up the seasoning packet and dumps it all in the pot of noodles.

“Bon appetit. Eat up,” Minho deadpans as he walks over to the giant makeshift cot on the floor of the living room, the small pot of ramen nestled between the potholders in his hands.

The setting is...much, much less than ideal. They’ve opted to sleep in the living room because it was open and it would be easier to escape than if they had both picked a bedroom of their own with only one door and window to go through. With some effort, they hauled a mattress out of the main bedroom - albeit somewhat bloodstained and with a claw mark in the upper left corner - that would serve as their sleeping device for the evening. At least it was big enough for the two of them to comfortably sit on and across from each other, with nothing but the pot of ramen between them.

“Thank you for the meal,” Jisung replies, his grin still wide and untouchable; Minho doesn’t mind it at all.

There’s only one pair of chopsticks but that doesn’t stop Jisung from taking the pot into his hands like it was a meal only for him. Minho watches him blankly, scarfing down the packaged ramen as a high school teenager would, and almost like they weren’t sitting at the precipice at the end of the world.

Jisung notices the older boy staring openly at him with those dark eyes and stops for a moment to put down the pot. “...O-Oh, hyung, are you not going to eat too?”

“Not hungry.”

Jisung’s mouth falls into a grimace despite his pleased expression just seconds prior. “You sure? You made more than enough for the both of — “

Minho simply shakes his head, enough that his bangs fall back in front of his eyes. “It’s fine. You’re probably hungrier than I am, what with all the running around you did today.”

The other boy’s cheeks balloon just briefly when he pouts, but they deflate soon enough as he picks up the pot of ramen to continue eating. (He doesn’t, and leaves it out on the side of their mattress in the event that Minho actually wants something to eat.)

The both of them aren’t strangers to cool summer nights, when the temperature drops so low and the breeze is blowing consistently that it might actually be chilly. It’s chilly now, laying back to back on the ratty old mattress with nothing but the clothes on their backs to protect them from the elements — namely, the chilling draft floating in through the shredded front door.

Minho furrows his brow as he tries to burrow into himself, a futile effort at trying to get comfortable in such a vulnerable position. Just weeks ago, he had a perfectly good bed in a perfectly square room with perfectly good blackout curtains and —

“Hyung?”

The voice is nearly inaudible, just a thin layer above the silence of the living room.

“You still awake?”

Minho forces an eye open and tries to still his breathing.

“...What do you want?”

Quiet. Hesitation. The sound of crickets in the distance.

“...You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Minho clicks his tongue in annoyance and shifts his body to face the other boy; it takes a few seconds for Jisung to muster the courage to turn his head behind him.

“Now why would I be mad, Jisung?”

His eyes adjust to the dark slowly but he can make out the roundness of Jisung’s features in front of him.

“You seemed really off today. Like I said or did something wrong,” Jisung whispers. His small hands and curled up in front of him like he’s clutching something valuable between his fingers.

Minho wants to roll his eyes but he’s sure Jisung would catch the glint of the whites of his eyes even in the flood of darkness. “...Jisung, you’ve said and done plenty of stupid shit ever since I met you. But I’m not mad. Now go to sleep — “

“ _Sure_ you’re not upset with me?” Now Minho can see the whites of Jisung’s eyes.

His nostrils flare when he inhales sharply, before pursing his lips and reaching up to gently ruffle the fried, blonde mop on Jisung’s head.

“...Go to sleep. We can talk all you want in the morning when we have the energy.”

“Alright,” Jisung softly replies, pressing his head deeply into the mattress.

Minho watches him for a few moments afterward before letting his eyes rest as well.

(He wakes up early in the morning with the younger boy curled up in his arms; Minho lets him remain there for a few minutes before untangling himself and getting prepared to set out for the day.)

* * *

He met the teenager two weeks ago, when the main wave of infection ceased and the chaos had already since descended upon the city. Han Jisung, he said his name was, a seventeen-year-old boy just a few weeks shy of his high school graduation — or at least, what would have been his high school graduation. Jisung bursted into the 7/11 holding what looked like the handlebars of a scooter, white-knuckled and with tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. Minho was in the middle of microwaving some onigiri he snatched right off the still refrigerated shelves. It took him fifteen minutes to get the flustered boy to calm down and explain himself.

Things haven’t gotten easier since, but Minho supposed it was better for his sanity to have a companion around than try to rough the road east by his lonesome.

“All the microwaveable stuff’s long spoiled,” Jisung mutters as he grimaces at a leaky package of what _used_ to be tteokbokki. “There’s some sealed stuff like jerky and dried fruit, though. Some water bottles too.”

“Just pick some up,” Minho advises, his voice calling out from the other side of the wrecked convenience store. “Not too much, though. We still need to travel light; we just need enough to last us a day...or two.” He clicks his tongue while stepping over a puddle of coagulated blood, the deep red staining the tile underneath. The tip of his boot accidentally knocks into a stray can, sending it rolling through the blood and leaving a streak of red across the floor.

“Let’s get out of here,” Minho mutters under his breath as he makes for the exit, ignoring Jisung curiously eyeing the bottles of soju still untouched in the refrigerators.

Minho is already out the door and briskly walking away from the establishment when Jisung runs out and catches up with him. “Hyung why so — _mmpft!_ ” Jisung’s eyes bulge out of his head as the other boy suddenly clamps a hand over his mouth and maneuvers them into a nearby shrub sitting on the sidewalk.

Jisung’s fingers are tight on his hand, just enough for him to wrench it away from his mouth so that he could speak. “ _What are yo –_ “

“ _Shh!_ ” Minho’s eyes are frenzied as he holds a stiff finger to his lips. Jisung watches his hand with bated breath as the older boy slowly points his finger past the bushes and over to the sidewalk on the opposite side.

It takes a moment for his focus to settle, but the chill runs down his spine instantly. The awkward gait, the bloodstained and tattered clothing, their flesh gray, pallid, and peeling like old wallpaper – Minho didn’t have to say anything else for Jisung to realize what it is they were looking at. They’d had their previous encounters with… _them_ , but they were instances of looking down at the street from a balcony or staring down at a riverbank from a bridge. This particular specimen – what looked to be the remains of a middle aged woman – was just across the street from them. Any misstep easily spelled out the demise of either of them; it was just a matter of who the zombie sinks its teeth into first.

Jisung trembles in Minho’s arms, it wasn’t long before he could feel the wetness running down his cheeks and onto his fingers, but…he stays silent. Minho’s not sure if the rapid beat ringing in his ears are that of Jisung’s heartbeat or his own. They remain behind the brush, eyes trained on the groaning, growling monstrosity limping across the street blindly, knuckles white from clutching too tightly at each other’s sleeves.

The creature lumbers closer and closer, still unaware of the both of them hiding behind the bush, but meters too close for comfort.

“Jisung.” Minho’s voice is hoarse but quiet. “Jisung, are you listening to me?” He turns and firmly grabs the younger boy by the shoulders, making them face each other.

“…We have to go. We can’t stay here or it’s going to find us. If we get a running start now, we might be able to lose it.” Minho’s face has drained of all blood, and the dark circles around his eyes are more pronounced than ever. “Jisung, we have to go _now_. On the count of three, okay? We _run_. Can you do that for me?”

Jisung’s jaw remains tight and he catches himself before he chokes on his own breath. His hands continue to get tighter and tighter on Minho’s sleeve.

“One.”

They hear the zombie trip on the curb, its fleshy body hitting the concrete with a meaty smack. A raspy groan erupts from its throat as it claws at the floor with bloodied stumps of fingers.

“Two.”

Jisung gags at the stench drifting in from behind them. Like the smell of a rotting animal’s carcass that’s been sitting out in the unabated sunshine for far too long, washed in raw sewage.

“ _Three_.”

Minho yanks him off the ground and they immediately sprint in the opposite direction. Behind them, they hear the telltale screech of the dilapidated woman, but the adrenaline has already mixed into Minho’s bloodstream. _Don’t look behind you, don’t look behind you, don’t look behind you_ , he chants in his mind as he pumps his legs with each step they take. The screaming is loud, louder, and he hopes that it’s the only zombie within miles or else they’re absolutely fucked.

They don’t stop running, taking lefts and rights through the city until they no longer recognize where they’ve ended. The inhuman screeching ceased a long while back, and it isn’t until Minho crumples to the floor that they finally stop. His thighs have been screaming at him for the past ten minutes, and his heart is pounding so hard he fears it might actually burst through his chest. Every breath surging through his lungs hurts and Minho wonders if he might die from exhaustion instead.

“…J-Jisung,” he ekes out before letting out a nasty cough. “Ji, are you – “

“I’m…I’m fine, hyung.” The younger boy’s voice is hoarse as well, but it’s a comforting sound in the otherwise surreal tranquility of the city.

The pristine, blue sky above taunts Minho, Mother Nature herself reminding him that under any other circumstances it would have been a clear, summer day. Maybe he would have gone to the beach with his friends or enjoyed a refreshing drink on his patio with his cats, or perhaps stayed inside with the air conditioning to watch one of his favorite movies. He doesn’t remember when his vision becomes blurry, but only until he reaches up with his hands to dig his palms into his eyes does he realize that he’s been crying this entire time.

* * *

His eyelids have only been getting heavier and heavier ever since the incident at the convenience store. They’ve been lucky before, but Minho forces himself to realize that this is their reality now – running, hiding, scavenging. There is no safe haven waiting for them anywhere, and the disjointed, inhuman screaming in the distance only keeps Minho up for hours on end.

Their abode for the evening is an abandoned coupe on the third floor of a parking garage, right across from a department store. The ramps going up and down the structure have been blockaded by cars, all hastily left open in the ensuing panic. Minho imagines the chaos that must have occurred as he and Jisung passed by vehicles with their windshields smashed in and bloody handprints on destroyed upholstery.

Still, the amount of cars in the garage provided enough of a physical barrier for anyone trying to go up or down, but they could never discount the possibility that something still lied in wait for them.

He feels insane, feels like his nerves have become fried at their ends and that he’s lost all sensation in his extremities. His eyelids are _so_ heavy, he wants to sleep, but he knows that he _can’t_ , and all that he could do is grip tighter onto the lead pipe between his fingers –

“Minho.”

Jisung’s voice is clear, enough to hold him by the neck and drag him back into the present.

“You look exhausted. You need to get some rest.” Minho wants to argue, wants to let Jisung know that he has to keep on eye out, wants to let Jisung know that he’s _safe_ , and yet…just the sensation of Jisung’s hand on his clenched fist is enough to placate him.

Minho languidly shakes his head, his dry, frazzled bangs shifting in front of his eyes. “I-It’s fine, Ji. I can keep going.”

“Are you kidding me, hyung? You’re not going to fight anyone off with that lack of energy. You _need_ to sleep. Let me take over.”

A frustrated sigh escapes Minho as he turns away, kicking his legs out the driver’s seat door and planting the pipe into the concrete below. “…Can’t sleep. It’s hard to get any sleep when…when things are like _this_.” He hangs his head in silence, allowing his eyes to close for a few precious seconds.

“Then let me help you stay awake,” Jisung quickly responds, shifting in his seat to face Minho. “Let’s talk about…stuff. We haven’t actually had any time to properly get to know each other, y’know.”

Minho sighs again and decides to pull himself back into the small car, slumping into his seat and staring blankly past the windshield at the dark sky.

“…What do you wanna talk about? _Twenty questions?_ ”

Jisung allows himself a small grin of victory as he leans onto the partition compartment between them.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“You’re pretty young, hyung. Favorite color?”

“Jisung, I don’t think this is how – “

“ _Answer the question_.”

Minho groans. “Mint green.”

“Do you like anime?”

“…Yeah.”

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Once. Didn’t like it.”

“Ever had sex?”

“ _Jisung_.”

“Is that a yes?” The older boy turns to glare at Jisung, but the younger boy simply raises his eyebrow at him. Minho settles back in his seat with a noise of disgust.

“… _Yes_.”

“Hyung…I think you’re really cool.”

“And you surmised that from a very short, very _incorrect_ game of twenty questions?”

The smile on his face is wide, but Jisung simply shrugs and leans back leisurely. “I dunno…I already had a feeling that you were pretty cool ever since we met in that 7/11. I just knew we’d get along.”

Minho cracks an eye open to look at the high schooler. “You’re serious?” Before he realizes it, he’s already laughing quietly to himself.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s whatever.”

They switch up the board and Jisung answers questions next. The first few are things that Minho already figured out weeks before, and then the following answers surprise him.

Jisung _loves_ music (loved – past tense, would have been far incorrect, Minho assumes), enough to have wanted to pursue a career in music straight out of high school. His favorite color is red, and he laments not having had time to swipe his favorite red hoodie back home when the outbreak occurred.

His best friend was a taller fellow whom he butted heads with about as many times as they went out for ice cream on a weekly basis. They shared the same passion for the performing arts – Jisung being a musician at heart and his friend having a deep interest in dance and performance. He disappeared in the chaos that day during his homeroom class; Jisung likes to think he’s still out there somewhere, but he doesn’t want to think about it anymore than that.

Jisung regrets not going out for cheesecake one last time, or not finishing that shounen anime he promised himself he would get to as soon as summer started. Above all else – and Jisung says this with the lightest of laughs – he regrets being too shy and insecure of himself, that he’d never be able to steal a kiss from any of the cute boys in his class.

“Ah. You’re into…?”

“Mhm.” Jisung nods emphatically. “Not like I can do anything about it now.”

“Who knows…maybe you’ll find a zombie who’s just your type out there.” Minho smirks when he’s met with a soft jab to the shoulder.

“…And you? It doesn’t seem like you have any girlfriends you oughta be searching for.”

He shakes his head once again. “Nah, not me.”

Jisung leans forward in his seat to hug his knees to his chest. “…Still, I like to think you were pretty cool around the other college kids. I’m sure you were a total babe magnet, what with looks like yours and – “

“In your _dreams_ , maybe. God, are you always this embarrassing around other people?”

“Just because the world’s gone to shit doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to dream anymore,” the high schooler replies, his tone laced with soft laughter.

* * *

And he doesn’t, when a few days later, he shares his first kiss with Minho over a cheap dinner of beef jerky, canned corn, and a jar of applesauce they snatched from a rundown supermarket.

_Magical_ , Jisung breathes against the older boy’s lips before they share a second, third, fourth. Five, six, seven, and eight follow later that evening, when Minho’s arms are tight around his body and his own fingers dig into the older boy’s hair, a little bit greasy, all too dry, but still very soft. Nine and ten arrive in the morning, when Jisung feels Minho’s chapped lips against the base of his neck, then at the crown of his head. He readily turns his body around and reaches up for number eleven.

* * *

Minho can’t stop himself from trembling, can’t stop his hands from shaking and clenching even tighter even when Jisung is already holding onto them. The breeze wafting across the ocean is cool on his face, but it does nothing for the hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

Through the blurriness of his eyes, he can make out the small ripples his teardrops make when they fall from his face, through the gap between his legs, and hit the seawater washing in beneath the pier.

_“Fucking – “_

_The blood splatters everywhere with each pass of the baseball bat, turning his cheeks redder and redder by the second._

_“ – monster!”_

_“Hyung, you have to st – “_

_“Piece of shit – “ The bat comes down again, the sound it makes on impact a nasty, meaty, wet sound of disgust. Minho’s eyes are wide as plates and bulging with veins at the edges as he continues taking the weapon down to the creature’s face, now completely indistinguishable as a bloodied pile of mush. But all he sees is crimson, scarlet, red._

_“M-Minho, please – “_

_“ – back to HELL – “ He screams and brings the baseball bat down one last time, and the wood splinters upon hitting the concrete, instantly breaking in half. A choked sob erupts from Minho’s chest as he drops the broken weapon and sinks to his knees, soaking his jeans in blood and matter._

_Jisung falls to his knees behind Minho and wraps his slender arms tightly around the crying male in effort to stabilize him._

_“…Hyung, it’s okay now. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.”_

The silence is deafening between them, when the only noises to be heard were the waves crashing upon the shore and the squawk of the seagulls overhead. The sky above and the sea on the horizon are a rich auburn color, and it might have been a beautiful sight to Minho had it not reminded him of the freshly drying blood on his hands and knees.

He parts his lips to speak, and a choked gasp slips out instead.

“…I-I’m sorry. I should have gone with you, I knew it wasn’t safe, I – “

“Shhh…hyung, it’s fine. It’s not your fault that nowhere is safe, there was nothing you could have done to predict what was gonna happen.” Minho shifts his gaze from the water rippling beneath his feet to Jisung’s thumb rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. “…Minho, look at me.”

Before he could do anything else, the high schooler is already pulling his hands away and cupping his face instead, raising him up to level their eyes.

Jisung’s smile is infectious, really, even when his eyes twinkle from the crying he’d been doing as well, and his bubbly cheeks are specked with dots of dried blood here and there.

“God…you’re such a mess,” he jokes lightly, whispering just low enough for only the two of them to hear. Jisung’s grin grows wider when he swipes his thumbs over Minho’s cheeks, streaking the blood and tears across his pallid skin.

“ _I almost lost you_ , Jisung.” Minho’s eyes sting at the corners. His bottom lip quivers ever so slightly. “We’re all we have left. I…I can’t do this alone.”

Jisung nods in agreement as a lone droplet falls onto his right cheek. “That’s why we’re gotta be strong, hyung. We gotta look out for each other. Can you be strong for me?”

“…Yeah. I will.”

They fall into a warm embrace, arms wound tightly around each other like a coil. Minho’s breath stutters against his neck where he’s buried his face, but that’s a minor inconvenience at best. Jisung presses a soft kiss to the top of the older boy’s head.

_You’re stronger than I ever will be, Jisung._

* * *

Minho doesn’t know how long they’ve been wandering. The streets and buildings all begin to look the same after a point, and it’s even more surprising when the gray, concrete cityscape began to bleed into lush, green countryside. They haven’t seen any other humans since the collapse, but Minho doesn’t think it’s all that bad. All he needed was Jisung.

Sweet, innocent, naïve Jisung. With hair like a halo of sunshine and a smile that could be seen for miles…even if his roots did start to grow back in and his teeth had always been a little bit crooked.

Minho doesn’t like being jealous, and he’ll never admit to being jealous, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say he envied any amount of the high schooler’s incredible fortitude. Every day under the hot sun, walking aimlessly to nowhere is more like a brand new adventure to the young boy. Their travels haven’t been boring, at the very least.

They’ve had a few more run-ins with the zombies – well, Minho was never certain if _zombies_ were the right things to call them if they weren’t _dead_. They’re all alive, just…lost their minds along the way due to the outbreak. Jisung jokes that they must have superior antibodies for having gone this long without contracting the infection, and that maybe they’ll run into a survivor camp along the way who’ll treasure them for their immunities.

Minho’s first instinct was to laugh, and then hit Jisung upside the head. If only it were that simple.

He admired the younger boy’s ability to bring levity to any situation, even as dire as the one they were currently in. Under any other circumstances, Minho might have just killed himself. There were plenty of ways to accomplish that in an apocalypse as distressing as this one.

They haven’t yet talked about the worst case scenario, and sometimes Minho thinks that he wants to. The worst case scenario being the reality that one of them _might_ turn feral and insane. _Just in case_ , he thinks, but at the same time, there never really was a proper way to introduce that topic, especially when he and Jisung watch the stars at night and they go through the multitude of pranks the younger boy’s pulled on all his peers.

The last of their food had run out just the day before, and something ugly pulls at Minho whenever he hears Jisung’s belly rumble, like he wishes he could just make cheesecake appear out of thin air so that the boy could eat. Jisung would enjoy that a lot, not even a single complaint, and he’s certain Jisung would eat nothing but cheesecake right now if he could.

Minho’s not hungry, doesn’t think he’s hungry, but sometimes the bite mark on his left bicep aches a bit too much, and he has to will himself to keep it together. For just a little longer, at the very least.

“…Minho hyung? You okay?”

He blinks profusely, his lashes fluttering in the breeze as he refocuses on Jisung. The younger boy is standing just a few paces in front of him, his worn sneakers crushing some dead grass beneath. Jisung’s smile is infectious, and so he allows himself to mirror that very grin.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

_It might not be the right time._

_I might not be the right one._

_But there’s something about us I want to say._

_Because there’s something between us anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for making it to the end with us! if you enjoyed the fic, please don't hesitate to leave a comment and go check out the rest of everyone's works in the collection! stay safe and stay hydrated ^^


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